Page 95 of Hottie on Her Shelf
“Absolutely. And I promise we’re treating your mother like one of those VIPs. She’s in the presidential suite, right around the corner.”
Way to be low profile. Why did his mom need a hospital room that had a sitting room attached, a convertible sofa bed and an oriental rug when she evidently wanted her admission to be so under wraps that she hadn’t even told him?
It was just a few steps through a secure doorway before she knocked on a half-shut door with a green light softly glowing overhead. “You can go on in. If she wanted privacy, the light would be red.”
If she knew Fitz was out here, it’d probably be red with sirens going off after the way he’d dressed her down for being rude to Hallie at the dinner.
“Thank you. And thanks for looking out so well for my mother.”
When he first entered, Fitz didn’t even see the hospital bed, just the room set up like a hotel version of a sitting room. Green-shaded lamps keeping it warm yet dim, a brown leather sofa. A brass and glass coffee table that no doubt offended his mom’s sense of classic style.
It took turning right in the large suite to find his mom. She was propped up in bed, wrapped in a quilted cream bed jacket. So…snazzy for a hospital patient, with tidy hair, but her ubiquitous pearls weren’t around her neck. There was a smear of blood on the cuff of her jacket near what must’ve been an attempt-gone-wrong at an IV site. IV tubing came out of the opposite arm propped on a pillow and her skin was both pale and gray at the same time.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Fitz rushed to her side, carefully kissed her forehead, and curled his fingers around her hand.
She frowned—probably at his uninvited pop-in. “It’s nothing.”
Nice try. “I don’t care how great your insurance is. You don’t get a hospital room unless there’s something very much going on.”
“You might not.” She lifted her bruised arm, winced, then slowly tapped her sternum with the hand skewered to the IV. “I’m on the frequent flyer plan. I check in every few months, get some meds, and go home a whole new woman.”
“Mom, don’t brush this off. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut. “I didn’t want to burden you.”
The dramatic martyrdom wasn’t anything new. It was, in fact, one of Caroline Montgomery’s signature moves…and thus one Fitz was expert at countering. “Well, I didn’t want to inherit Dad’s overbite, but I did, and braces fixed it. You tell me what’s going on with you, and I’ll do everything I can to help fix it. Or better yet, find the right trained medical professional who can.”
“There’s no fixing this, I’m afraid. I must simply live with it.” She must’ve heard Fitz’s sharp indrawn breath of utter frustration because her eyes popped back open to lock on his. “I have multiple sclerosis.”
A gut punch would’ve been easier to take.
Panic hit first, then sorrow for the struggle ahead for her to live with a chronic disease. Then Fitz remembered that his totality of knowledge about it came from a mystery series he’d read back in college. Better fact-check the biggest question in his head. “It isn’t fatal, right?”
“No, my darling boy. You are stuck with me.”
“God, I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her shoulder and then wondered too late if her joints were sore. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to be a distraction. You’ve made no secret of your distaste for campaigning. Worrying about my condition wouldn’t be prudent on your part.”
“So you just found out?” Then why had she mentioned being a frequent admission at the hospital? Before Fitz crowned himself most unobservant son on the planet, he needed to lay out how much he’d overlooked.
“Well. No. I found out about eighteen months ago.”
“Christ, Mom.” He toed over a chair that looked like it belonged at a castle’s dining room table and straddled it backward. “How can I spoil you with feel-better flowers if you don’t tell me you’re feeling lousy?”
“I’m not at my best when I’m having a flare up. Forgive me for taking the time to wrap my head around it before broadcasting my chronic illness to the world.”
Wow. “Not the world, Mom. Just me.”
Of course, he got her urge for privacy. At first. But what did it say about their relationship that she still hadn’t confided in him after a year and a half?
It said that no matter how much he tried, he’d never be the son Caroline Montgomery wanted him to be. Which, to Fitz, was a giant neon Stop Trying sign.
Fitz wondered if his sister knew about all this. Probably. With Blake being a scientist, his parents had probably texted her for advice from the start. Which was fine. This wasn’t a sibling rivalry thing. Strictly a parents versus Fitz thing.
Sometimes, Fitz wondered why he still tried. He loved his parents. He wasn’t sure if the feelings were reciprocated. They seemed to love the mental image of their son carrying on the family legacy. Whether or not they loved the actual flesh and blood version of Fitz that followed his own mind? That was still up for discussion.
Well, God forbid they discuss their feelings. The Montgomerys had two settings—disappointment and pride. Nothing else ever seemed to register.
